5.26.2013

344 of 365

He had been running for the last few miles, his throat thick with liquid, every breath burning his lungs. With each exhausted stride, the tread of one shoe would abrade the bare skin on the opposite ankle, scraping it raw cell by cell. He kept looking back over his shoulder, knowing they were behind him. In the darkness, he never saw the hole dug to contain him. As he fell, his head hit the far wall, knocking him unconscious.

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